The Phantom's Daughter
by trallgorda
Summary: The Phantom suddenly becomes a father. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

I dedicate this to my sister, Shadowylvia. Because you asked.

Chapter 1

I lay on my bed at home, trying to think. I had let Christine and Raoul go, and I knew that they were going to be married, I could accept that, but what I could not accept was spending the rest of my life alone. Why? _Why?_

I had thought that I had found someone with whom I could spend the rest of my life. I had lived a solitary existence before then, but after experiencing love for someone else, I couldn't go back. It was impossible. It was as if a wall had sprung up behind me, closing off that lonely portion of my life as if it had never happened. The courage that I could garner from all those years alone was no longer available to me, and I was left alone, a vulnerable wreck of a human being whose heart ached with each moment.

Alone. Lonely. Sad. These were feelings that I had known all my life but had never dared to admit to myself before. Now that I had admitted them, there was no way to close them back into the dark areas of my consciousness to which I had kept them confined. They had reached the lighter parts of my mind, and once there they found enough light and nourishment to help them grow into a veritable jungle of pain and grief.

Thoughts that I had not considered since I was a child crowded into my mind, and they yammered and chattered and afforded me no peace. At last, desperate for a little quiet, I took a draught of herbs that would help me sleep.

I dreamed a very strange dream. I was standing on a grassy hillside that was covered with wildflowers. To my left, down the hill, lay the sea, and beyond, to my right, was the open countryside. It was summertime, bees droned nearby, and the breeze carried the scents of the myriad flowers to me. I had not experienced such things in a very long time. Not since I was very small, certainly. As I stood there, I became aware that I was wearing a summer suit, not at all my usual color of black, but of a light blue-gray. In one hand I held a straw boater (the sort of hat that went with the suit, but the kind I would never be caught _dead_ in) and in my other hand, a small bouquet of wildflowers and, of all things, a doll. A child's doll. Nearby I could hear singing, but it wasn't Christine's voice that I was hearing. No, this was a clear, bell-like child's voice, singing about the bridge in Avignon.

That was where I woke up. I couldn't understand the dream, and I couldn't understand why I had dreamed such a thing. I had no way of knowing that dreams, even dreams that you think you don't want, have a habit of coming true.

Space

I couldn't stay locked away in the cellars forever. I'd have to get something to eat eventually, so late one afternoon I put on a walking outfit, a cape, my mask, and my hat and set out to go shopping. Letting myself out the gate in the Rue Scribe, I set out for the Champs-Elysees, the tree-lined boulevard where some of the best shops could be found. I stopped at a greengrocer's for vegetables and herbs, a butcher's for ham, beef, chicken and lamb, a baker's for bread and breakfast pastries, a dairy for eggs, milk, butter, and cheese, and a confectionary shop for some chocolate that I intended to leave for some of the ballet rats. At a stationer's I bought manuscript paper, ink, and my usual stationery. All of the men who ran those shops knew better than to be impertinent about my mask or to give me inferior products. Now loaded down with packages, I began my return home.

I heard the screaming when I was a block from the Opera. Surprised, I followed it to its source: a ruffian was slinking down an alleyway, and he had a screaming banshee flung over his shoulder. Without thinking, I placed my packages on a handy stoop and rushed after him, intending only to see what he was doing. As I reached them, the man turned, and a blow from my fist was sufficient to send him sprawling. Dropping what he carried, he fell to the ground, but he got up after a moment and raised his fists. I could tell right away that he was drunk, but I was going to feel no compunction about laying him low. I could not stand drunkenness in any way.

Before I could approach him, the man suddenly burped, went cross-eyed, and fell flat on his face. Obviously, he'd had too much cheap wine.

The little bundle that he had been carrying remained where it had fallen; whimpering and shaking with sobs. I knelt down next to it and tried to see what it was. Before I could move away, it had lifted its head and looked me right in the face.

The little angel that was revealed did not flinch at the sight of the mask. She stared up at me as a judged man would a sudden savior. I could tell that under the dirt, matted hair, and rags she was a beautiful child—gray eyes with all the intensity of the sea looked into mine, a soft rosebud mouth opened in surprise, and in the next moment she had wrapped her skinny arms around my neck and burst into noisy tears. Of their own accord, my arms went around her and held her.

"It's all right, now," I heard myself saying. "He won't hurt you. I'm here."

I knew I couldn't leave her there, but I also couldn't leave her in the streets on her own. What to do?

"Where do you live, _ma chere_?" I asked her, smoothing her hair in an attempt to calm her.

"With _Maman_," she said, sniffling. "But she went to sleep, and she wouldn't wake up, and the landlord said that she was dead. He had people come and take her, and he wouldn't let me back in the house after she was buried."

I understood then. This child had lived with her mother in one of the tenements of Paris, and after her mother's death, the landlord had refused to allow her to live there any longer. I cursed that brute of a man. How could he turn a child out into the world?

That settled it. "I'll help you," I said, rising and setting her on her feet while keeping her hand in mine. "You can live with me." Now, why had I promised that? I lived in the Paris Opera cellars, not some charming home on the Place de la Concorde! What was I thinking?

My words earned another hug from the child. "Are you real, Monsieur?"

I surprised myself by chuckling. "Yes, I'm real."

We retrieved my packages, and she gasped at the sight of all the food. Apparently, it had been quite some time since she had eaten. I gave her some milk from one of the bottles and told her that once we got where we were going, I would prepare some nice hot soup for her. That won the first real smile that I saw from her.

As I led her past the gate in the Rue Scribe and down underground, she did not ask where we were going or why we going beneath the streets of Paris. She followed me, holding my hand, and trusting me totally. We reached the house, and I led her inside, praying she would not become frightened, bolt, and become lost in the cellars of the Opera.

She did not. She followed me inside, and watched my every movement as I prepared the soup and put things away. Once it was finished, I gave her a small bowl of it, and once it was finished, she fell asleep in her chair. Once I was certain that she was really asleep, I picked her up and settled her in Christine's bedroom, tucking her into the large Louis-Phillippe bed. I sat by her bedside and watched her sleep, but my mind was far from still. All through the night, I made plans.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I fell asleep in my chair after several hours of ruminating. When I woke up, the child was still asleep, and I could tell that her sleep was the sleep of the exhausted. I got up and went to my room to wash and change my clothes. While I took care of these necessary things, I thought. Was it possible to raise a child here in the cellars of the Opera? Wouldn't it be better for her if she were able to grow up in sunshine and fresh air?

Deciding that that would be a matter for a later time, I quickly scrawled a note to the child and left it on her pillow. She had turned in her sleep, but she hadn't awoken. I slipped out of the house and headed to the Opera above me to rifle through the costume rooms. There _had_ to be something there that she could wear until I could get a wardrobe for her.

Finding something appropriate was more difficult than I had thought. There were some things that would have fit her, but they were either ugly or too dated for the poor little thing to wear. I would not have the child resemble a pariah while I was caring for her. After much more searching, I found an attractive little frock in blue silk tucked away in a costume press that was labeled for the opera _Carmen_. Since the latest crowed-pleaser was _Faust_, I doubted that the costume would be missed any time soon. I would be able to return it before _Carmen_ was performed again.

A door opening somewhere scared me out of my wits and sent me scrambling for a closet. Praying that the closet I inhabited wouldn't be the one that the person would open, I watched as a costume mistress bustled about the room and slipped costumes for _Faust_ from the racks. After some gossip with another woman who came, they both left.

Feeling I could have done without the discourse on whom Sorelli was currently seeing, I slipped out of the closet and set about finding the rest of the outfit. Costumes and their accessories were numbered to let the staff know which piece went with what, and it was a bit more searching to find the things that I needed. Once I had finished, I had a complete set of undergarments, the gloves, the stockings, the shoes, and the hat that went with the dress. Thanking the benevolent force that watched over fools, I wrapped the outfit in some brown paper and headed back down to my home.

As I neared the front door, I could hear childish sobbing that was clearly bordering on hysteria. Frantic, I unlocked the front door and rushed inside, where I found the child crumpled on the floor in the drawing room. I hurried to her and took her in my arms, but she shrieked in surprise. Kicking myself for not realizing that she hadn't heard me come in, I did my best to calm her.

"What is it, child?" I asked. "What is the matter?"

Hearing my voice, she calmed down enough to talk. "There's a coffin in here."

Now I wanted to beat myself over the head for being so monumentally_ stupid_. My cozy bed in my room was a coffin, but she would fail to see it as a bed, and would only see the final horror it represented. Since her mother was only recently buried, her terror had been compounded. Obviously she had woken up and looked for me, but she had found something that she hadn't expected.

"Hush, now," I said, holding her close. "It's all right. It's nothing but a big box, and it can't hurt you. I won't let it."

"You're not going to bury me, are you, _Monsieur_?" She still had not let go of my coat lapels, but she had stopped crying except for an occasional tear.

"No, I would never do that, _ma chere_," I answered. "I have a surprise for you," I told her, desperate to distract her. "Something pretty."

She looked up then, her interest piqued. "What is it?"

"Well, you'll have to open it," I told her, holding out the package.

She looked at it, gave a wan smile, and then I bid farewell to the brown paper as she ripped it into tiny shreds in her enthusiasm.

"Ooooh-oh," she cried, delighted. "Oooooh-ooooh! Oh, _Monsieur_, how pretty! Is that where you went? To get me this?"

"I left you a note, saying that I was going to find you something," I explained. "Did you find it?"

She shrugged. "I can't read."

"Oh. Well, that's something we'll have to remedy. Let's get you all ready, because you and I are going shopping today."

After giving her some breakfast, I settled her in a bathtub and scrubbed her. It took several tubs of water for the dirt to be washed away, and even _more_ tubfuls to get her hair clean, but I managed. She did not appear interested in getting clean, but she did enjoy searching for the soap in the water whenever I dropped it. Thankfully, she did not have lice or other vermin. Such creatures were enough to make even _my_ skin crawl.

I wrapped her in my robe while I combed out her hair and trimmed it to just a few inches below her shoulders. I bundled her up in a towel while I dried her hair with another, and then I helped her dress. Cleaned up and with new hair and clothes, the child was a vision. I left her to wait in the drawing room while I went and changed again (her enthusiasm for her bath had left me soaked). When I re-emerged, she was dancing about, obviously pleased with her transformation.

"Well, _mademoiselle_, shall we go?" I asked, extending my hand.

Giggling, she took my hand and went with me back outside.


	3. Chapter 3

It was fortunate that it was still so early in the morning since there were relatively few shoppers in the Champs-Elysees. It was just past eight o'clock, and the most fashionable people (and the most frequent inhabitants of the broad avenue) would not be up until ten at the earliest. We had plenty of time. There were the inevitable stares as the child and I walked along the streets, but I ignored them and devoted my attention to the child. Instead of the panicky little figure I had found on my return from the costume rooms, she was happy and amused with everything she saw. An organ-grinder and his monkey drew shrieks of delight from her, and the opulent store windows and wide, tree-lined street made her eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. It was easy to see that she had known very little of beauty or luxury in her life.

"Where are we going, _Monsieur_?" she asked, holding onto my hand. "Are we shopping for more food?"

I stopped and knelt down, and using the pretext of adjusting her hat to speak to her, I told her that we were shopping for clothes for her. "Also, _ma chere_, I think it would be best if you called me something other than _monsieur_. Do you think you would like to call me 'Papa'?"

"But you're not my papa, _Monsieur_," she said, looking confused. "_Maman_ said that I had none since he left."

"Well, I don't have to be your father for you to call me 'Papa,' do I?" I pointed out. "People will wonder why you call me _monsieur_, you see, and they may try to take you away from me if they don't think I'm your father. They'll think that I have no right to have you."

Those words caused the child to throw her arms around my neck and hold onto me as if she were on the verge of being snatched away.

"It's all right," I hastened to assure her while kicking myself for frightening her. "I won't let them do that."

"I would like you to be 'Papa,'" she said, still holding onto me. "I don't remember mine. I would like a papa."

"Well, I'm glad. I, for one, would like a daughter. What is your name?" I asked. "That way, I'll know what to call you."

She smiled. "_Maman_ said that my name is Alisande Marie Catharine, but she always called me 'Lise.'"

"Very well, then, 'Lise' you shall be," I told her. "Shall we go shopping, Lise?"

She giggled, and together we headed towards a shop. I had chosen a small, private couturier for little girls, and Lise was delighted with all she saw as soon as we closed the door behind us. There were dresses hanging on dressmakers' mannequins, swatches of fabric draped over chairs and counters, countless streams of ribbons, laces, and other trimmings dripping from cubbies on one wall, and a large triple mirror on one wall. Despite the clutter, all of the furnishings in that establishment were of good quality and taste, and I knew the proprietors were discreet. I rang the bell on the front counter, and a woman stepped out. She stepped back at the sight of my mask, but she recovered her composure and professional air in a moment.

"_Oui, monsieur_?" she asked, coming to the counter.

I gave a slight bow, touching the brim of my hat. "Good morning, _Madame_. I've brought my daughter to you since she is in need of some new clothes. Can you assist us?"

With an expert eye she looked Lise up and down, and smiled. "Ah, of course, _Monsieur_!" she said, opening a small door that led to the interior of the shop and the fitting area. "Come back, and we'll begin to outfit the _mademoiselle._"

After that, there ensued a positive parade of silks, velvets, muslins, laces, satins, linens, raimes, taffetas, and fine cottons; all trotted out for my approval. Lise's measurements were taken, and an assistant began to shape a mannequin to those measurements for future use. Buttons, laces, beads, ribbons, and cords were shown to me for trims on the dresses, and I found myself comparing trimmings to fabrics, trying to find the most pleasing and tasteful combinations. The saleswoman was of invaluable help there, since most of my experience with clothing stopped at a man's wardrobe. Lise was beside herself with feminine frippery, exclaiming over every new fabric, trim, or pattern, and crying, "Oh, Papa, this is so _pretty_!"

By the time we had finished choosing things, twenty dresses were planned with two to be picked up by me in two days. We were settling the bill when the saleswoman asked if my daughter needed new undergarments.

I was thankful for the mask since it hid my blushing. I hadn't thought of that at all. "No, I hadn't, _Madame_. Do you also make those garments here?"

She assured me that they did, and would I like to see some samples. At that point, I had to confess my ignorance. The only thing that had helped me to get a complete set of undergarments for the dress that Lise wore at the moment was the fact that they had all been numbered! I did not know what women or girls wore underneath, nor did I know their names.

"That is easily remedied, _Monsieur_," she said, leading us into another room. There, she helped me to pick out underdrawers, stockings, chemises, slips, petticoats, and nightdresses. Since they were made to be fitted to the child by the aid of ribboned laces, we could take those packages with us.

Once we were finished there, we went off to a milliner's for hats and gloves and a shoemaker's for shoes. We bought straw hats, church hats, summer hats, winter hats, walking hats, lace gloves, cotton gloves, kid gloves, summer gloves, and wool gloves for winter. At the shoemaker's she was measured for walking shoes, boots, winter and summer shoes, silk slippers, and bedroom slippers. We even stopped at a ladies' accessories shop and placed a few orders for little handbags to match her outfits, overcoats, shawls, handkerchiefs, and parasols. We bought a great more than the child needed, but I couldn't find myself saying 'no' to her. Like the majority of little girls, she loved pretty things.

The shopping took much longer than I had anticipated, so Lise and I went to a café for lunch. She was delighted with the table we had all to ourselves under the shade of an awning outside, and I found that if I sat at a certain angle, not many people could see my mask. It would be just my luck for one of the people from the Opera to see me and realize that their ghost ventured into daylight.

After a lunch of soup, quiche, baguettes, and Russian tea, I realized that I had bought her nothing in the way of jewelry, playthings, or books. There was one place not far from the Champs Elysees ( a carriage ride of twenty minutes or so) called Le Bon Marche, on the Rue de Sevres. We could find the rest of our purchases there.

"Lise," I said, catching the child's attention. "How would you like to go to a very big store?"

"What kind of store?" she asked, intrigued.

"A very big one," I told her. "There we can find some playthings for you, and some books, and even some jewelry if you like."

Her answer was a definite affirmative. I saw a gleam of greed in the child's eyes when I mentioned toys, and thoughtfulness when I mentioned books. Once we were finished with lunch, I hailed a closed brougham and ordered the driver to Le Bon Marche. Once we were inside the store, a cloakroom attendant took my hat and waking stick and gave us a purchase booklet. Skimming through it quickly, I headed off to the children's department. Once there, Lise froze, staring at all of the toys, books, dolls, and games that were available. Immediately I knew that she was paralyzed by indecision.

Knowing she couldn't stand in the doorway until closing time, I led her over to the children's jewelry counter and helped her to pick out a simple locket, a small brooch, and a pearl necklace and earring set. ( I was planning to have the locket engraved.) Examining the jewelry seemed to calm her, and we were able to stroll among the toys. She chose a jigsaw puzzle, a top, paper dolls, tangrams, a small dollhouse with furniture and figurines, a toy carriage and horses, a child's sewing kit, a wooly lamb, and at my insistence, a doll. I felt that she should have a doll, so she chose splendid little girl doll as tall as her forearm was long, with a blue silk walking outfit, parasol, and hat. The doll had the same gray eyes and curly brown hair that she did, and the resemblance was not lost on me or her.

"She could be my little sister or my daughter," she explained, staring into the doll's face.

"And what will you call her?" I asked, interested in the game.

"I think I will call her…Emilie Madeleine," she said happily, hugging the newly-christened playmate to her chest.

"I think that's a fine name," I told her. "But I think that if mamma and daughter are to be well-rounded, they should have some books, don't you think?"

We didn't make it to the books right away. Lise spotted a stuffed bear that was the perfect size for Emilie, so we had to stop and add that to our purchases as well. After that, we found a nightdress and cap for her, so that was added to the pile. The lady at the counter was watching us with something like awe: The stack of our purchases was taller than her head and growing.

In the area devoted to children's books, we made some quick selections. A reading primer, a book of fairy tales, a child's Bible, a child's cookery book, a book of easy embroidery patterns, and the latest MacDonald translations: _La Princesse Perdue, Au Fond du Vent du Nord, _and _La Princesse and le Lutin._ I also chose a book entitled _Le Prince et L'indigent_ by a man called Samuel Clemens, from America. I chose a slate and chalk, writing and drawing paper, pencils, and crayons. This child would be prepared to begin lessons.

Once these selections had been made, a helpful clerk carried our packages to the purchasing counter, they were wrapped, boxed, and paid for, and we were on our way home. Once Lise had eaten her supper, her little eyelids drooped, and she fell asleep. I tucked her into bed with Emilie, and I began to set up her room as a little girl's dream abode. While I worked, I reflected on how much fun I had had spoiling her. Nothing could ruin my happiness.

There was one worry, however: Was my home underneath the opera house the right place for her?


	4. Chapter 4

Most excellent and phantom-like kudos to my reviewers!

Midianek: Yeah, the Phantom is OOC, but I think that children bring out the best in everyone. He's just letting his best side show.

L.G./Christine Daae: I know. Cuteness is what I was aiming for! As long as you keep reviewing, I'll keep writing!

Wiseupjanetweiss: I'm continuing. How's Rocky?

Ladyflutter: Unless they grow up in a house with women, most men don't. Here's more to read!

Kathy L.: Thanks for reading. I'm updating.

Relyan: Yep, that's one of my favorite movies. I took inspiration for Lise from Claudia and from a few other sources.

Ephona: I'm glad you think it's adorable.

Shadowsylvia: Hey, it's your birthday present, Sis. Enjoy. It only took you several years of suggesting it to get me to write it.

Psycogirl234: I'm updating.

Chapter 4

After being woken up in the night by nightmares where I had lost Lise in the Opera cellars and she had fallen victim to one of my forgotten booby traps, I decided that I would probably have to move. A cellar was no place for a child, so I would have to find a place that was. I fell asleep thinking about the problem.

I was woken up the next morning by hearing noise from the next bedroom. A glance at the clock showed me that it was just after six. Was Lise awake this early? Mind you, I'm usually up at a decent hour, but six was positively unholy, even for a ghost.

I hauled myself out of bed, staggered to my bathroom to get my robe and slippers, and wove my way to Lise's door. When I opened it, I saw her careening around the room ecstatically, examining everything, and exclaiming over every new decoration that I had arranged. She flew from the bookshelves to the vase of fresh flowers that I had slipped out after last night, to the desk where I had arranged her school things, and to the woven basket where I had placed her toys. Small changes, yes, but they were changes that hadtransformed a grown woman's room into that of a little girl. Lise spotted me and careenedtowards me, launching herself when she was a few feet from me, happily certain that I would catch her.

I did, of course. My heart stopped at the thought of her falling, but I managed to catch her and hold onto her. Once she was settled in my arms, she gave me a big hug and a kiss.

"Papa, it's so pretty!" she cried, hugging me again. "It looks just like the room I saw in a picture once!"

"Does it really?" I asked, giving her one last hug while I fought a yawn. "Why are you awake so early, _ma chere_? Couldn't you sleep?"

"I'm not sleepy," she said, smiling up at me. "Could we play?"

Play? When had I played? As a child, I was either busy thinking or surviving, I hadn't had time to play, but it should have occurred to me that Lise had no other playmates than me. Of course she would expect me to play with her!

"How about dressing and breakfast first?" I suggested. "Then we'll play a little, and maybe start your lessons."

"Lessons?" she said, perplexed. "What lessons?"

"Well, I'll be teaching you to read and write, and I'll teach you all sorts of other things so that one day you can be a clever woman," I explained, setting her down on an ottoman. "Learning to read and write isn't hard, _ma chere_."

She looked as if she were thinking about this. I helped her to wash and dress, and then I went to dress myself. If she were up, then I had best be up as well. After that, I made omelets and croissants for our breakfast.

Once she had fuel, Lise had even more energy. I couldn't believe it: As energetic as she had been before breakfast, she was even more energetic now. We played a game called "Warmer, Colder," and it was a game where one of us hid something, and the hider would guide the seeker by saying "warmer" or "colder" depending on how close to the object the seeker was. Lise was very creative: She used not only "warmer" and "colder," but also "icy," "boiling," "snowy," "frozen," and "red hot." After that, it was a game of "climb on Papa," and Lise assured me that it was a real game. (I had some doubts about this.) Papa had suddenly become a mountain, and his shoulders were the summit. Lise was a fearless mountain climber, and more than once I had to catch her to keep her from falling off of me. Once the summit was gained, Lise pulled out the tangrams, and the creatures she made from them could not be found in any zoology book, I was certain. I had thought I was clever for reproducing Notre Dame, but when Lise made an elehorsoduck, I had to admit myself beaten.

That afternoon, we went out. Fortunately, our destination was not far from the Opera, so we reached it with little exposure. My solicitor was surprised to see me in daylight, and he was even more surprised to see me accompanied by Lise, but I lay the matter out. I needed him to look for a house in Paris or its vicinity, and it needed very specific parameters. It needed a large garden or park with a high wall, spacious rooms and halls, and it needed to have space enough for myself, Lise, a parlor, music room, library, dining room, a well-appointed kitchen, a good storage cellar, and possibly a soundly-built shed on the premises or the space to build one. He agreed to begin to search immediately, and Lise and I returned to my home under the Opera.

During the next week, Lise and I played, talked, and began her lessons. Once she had her letters and numbers, she began to devour the books I had bought for her. She began to try cooking supper for the both of us using the recipes in her cookery book, and the end results were quite nice. I had never eaten croque monsieur with seasoned French beans before, but I had rarely enjoyed a meal more.

I checked with the solicitor at the end of the week and was surprised when he told me that he had already found a place and that it was ready for myapproval when I wished. Hiring a carriage for the day and paying the idiot driver to keep silent about my appearance, we went out to see the house. It was in one of theouter suburbs of Paris, and it was expensive.

Once I spotted it, I knew it was ideal. There was a high wall surrounding an expansive park ofone and a halfacres, a stable and a storage shed not too far from the house, and the house itself! Large windows let in plenty of sunlight into large rooms, and there were a ballroom, a library, dining room, four bedrooms, a parlor, music room, a conservatory, and a game room. There was a kitchen with a complete scullery and dairy, and water was pumped right into the house. Some enterprising soul had put in modern gas lamps, but the decorating left a little to be desired. Yes, Lise and I could be happy here. Now all we had left to do was move.

Space

Moving is enough of a project for an ordinary person, but for me, it was twice the work due to all of the secrecy that I had to function in. While I was busy packing and making arrangements to move, I became aware that there was a great deal of buzzing in the Opera. I still took a daily jaunt through my haunt (Oh, how poetic. Perhaps I should try writing poetry?) just to keep abreast of the situations and climate up in the grand theater. Lise,bless her, usually curled up with a bookand promised to be good while I was out. The managers were a constant source of amusement, and one afternoon I stopped outside their office, listening at my own private entrance that was concealed behind a bucolic painting. I wasn't prepared for what I heard.

"But do you think it's the Phantom, Andre?" Firmin demanded. "I mean, we haven't had a note since Christine Daae left us, and ten to one, whoever he was, he's most likely dead."

"They were hanging by their necks, the both of them!" Andre answered, sounding very shaken. "He and the ballet girl!"

_Who and what ballet girl?_ I wondered.

"They're both dead, that's for certain," Firmin muttered. "Ghastly thing. What have the police said?"

"That it was the work of a deranged madman, most likely. You know who that sounds like," Andre said. I could hear him fiddling with some papers.

"I do. What else did they say? Were they mentioning a motive?"

"Since when does a madman need a motive?" Andre snarled. "One inspector said that seeing them together most likely sparked a jealous rage, and he...dispatched them both."

I could read between the lines. For some reason, a ballet girl and her lover had been found dead, and I was being blamed for their deaths. I began to shake. Deaths meant police, police meant searching, searching meant their trying to find my home in the cellars. Before Lise, it wouldn't have mattered if they had found me, but now, I had everything to lose. I had no idea that I could care for the child that much, but I knew that she and I would have to be gone before they found the house by the lake.

I hurried home, calling for Lise, and she came running to greet me. "Hello, Papa! I finished another story!"

"Well, that's lovely, dear," I said, a little out of breath from running. "Listen, would you like to go to the new house?"

"But aren't we?" she asked, not understanding.

"Well, yes, but I meant sooner. After all, didn't you like it?" I knew that she had, for she had been ecstatic about the large park, the open rooms, and in the ballroom, she had danced about, laughing. I knew she couldn't wait to go.

"Yes, but why sooner?"

I hadn't expected her to ask me questions.

"Well, I had thought we'd be able to stay longer here, my love, but we can't. We have to go tonight."

"All the way in the dark?" she asked, for it was now evening.

"Yes, all the way. I will be with you, and it will be one great big adventure, but it will have to be tonight."

She clapped her hands in delight, and I knew that I wouldn't have any trouble with her after that. Immediately she decided that we were explorers traversing through darkest Africa with lions and cannibals on our trail (I stared at her, because I had never told her of such things. That begged the question: _What _had this child been reading? It was possible that in my bookshelves would be mention of Africa, but at the moment, I didn't want to search, I wanted only to go). I laughed, as much to go along with the game as to convince her that everything was all right. I helped her pack her dresses into a wicker press, stowed her toys, books, and other things into a knapsack, and we were off.

We crossed the lake, and I led her out the Rue Scribe entrance and into the cool night air. Once we were out on the main street, I hailed a cab and gave him the directions to the new house. He looked surprised at going so far out of the city, but I gave him an extra ten francs and he ceased to look suspicious. We rode through the night, and every now and then, Lise would part the curtains that covered the carriage door window and look out before giving a little shiver.

"What's the matter, Lise?" I asked, wondering what the child was up to.

"I was just thinking of the lions. They could be surrounding the carriage, Papa, and we wouldn't have a chance. I used to see lions on all sorts of buildings in the city, and they always made me frightened."

She was managing to frighten herself by using her imagination. I decided that it would be better to stop this while I still had a chance. "I don't think they would be bad lions, Lise," I said, taking her in my arms. "I think that they're good lions."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I think that instead of frightening a little girl like you, they would like to protect you," I said. "Did you ever seem to see a lion that looked protective instead of threatening?"

She thought about this. "Perhaps there were a few..."

"You see?" I said, smiling. "I think that a great many of those lions would save you from anything bad."

"What about you, Papa?" she asked, looking up at me. "Wouldn't you save me too?"

It was suddenly hard to speak. "Of course I would, Lise," I promised, choking the slightest bit. I had never felt such love for another human being in my life. My feelings for Christine became insignificant after that moment. I had found my greatest love.

"I love you, too, Papa," Lise said, suddenly hugging me. She rested her head on my shoulder for a few minutes while I reflected on how truly blessed I was. I was remembering how I had found her when her clear little voice broke the silence. "Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"What about the cannibals?"

Space

We reached the house sometime around midnight, and I paid the driver another twenty francs and together we went inside. Lise had fallen asleep, so I wrapped her in my cloak and settled her in a corner. I had hired a maid-of-all-work to clean the floors, walls, and ceilings for us, and she had done a superb job. There wasn't any dust or dirt, and the only things the rooms were lacking was furniture. Deciding that I would worry about that in the morning, I sat down next to Lise and dozed. I fell asleep sometime around dawn, and was woken up by a shriek, a loud bang, and a splash.

I was on my feet in a moment and clapped my hand over the mouth of the girl who stared at me with wide eyes. I considered the situation as best I could and decided to be charming. Her clothes suggested that she was the maid, and the upset bucket of soapy water and the mop she had clenched in her hand told me that she had come back this morning to clean some more. It wouldn't do to frighten her away and have her tell everyone she knew that her new master worea mask.

"Forgive me, mademoiselle," I said, letting go of her. "You frightened me very much. You are the young lady who has been taking care of my new home, I presume?"

"Your...new home?" she parrotted. "Oh, then you're Monsieur Devereaux? Oh, I beg your pardon, monsieur. When I first saw you and the little one, I thought you were a tramp, but I can see that you're not now. Pierre and I didn't expect you until next week."

"Pierre?"

"The gardener, sir, that your solicitor hired."

"Oh," I said, going over to Lise and picking her up. "Well, our last home had become uninhabitable, so we were forced to come here. Worst luck in the world, I imagine, but I wasn't able to salvage much. Mostly Lise's things, really. Not even our furniture can be brought, so I'll have to have some more brought here. According to a gasman, a steam pipe broke and soaked everything. Will it be an imposition for you or Pierre if I have it brought directly to the house?"

She looked suprised that I would even think of such a thing. "Oh, no, monsieur. Not at all. These rooms are too bare, and I'd like for them to be less echoey, if you know what I mean. Makes me think a ghost lives here."

I fought down a smile. "Well, all right then, I'll have the orders sent out this morning. May I know your name?"

"I'm Cecile," the girl said, curtseying. "If you like, sir, I could run down to the cookshop for some breakfast for you and the young lady. There isn't a thing in the house."

I nodded. "Just one thing, Cecile, before you go. Lise and I have come here for some privacy, and I'm sure you understand why. Please don't tell anyone that I wear a mask."

Cecile nodded. "I won't tell a soul, sir. With God as my witness, I won't."

Taking her at her word, I took out an envelope and some paper, dashed off a word to my solicitor asking him to stop by, and gave her a few francs to get us some essentials. She set off, and I was left, holding Lise and thinking about what to do next.


	5. Chapter 5

Sheet music to my reviewers!

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Chapter 5

Over the next month, Lise and I settled into our new home. My solicitor was a great help to me in getting the place furnished quickly. I had sent him a list of what was needed, my preferences, my aesthetic ideals, and a generous budget, and he managed to purchase a complete outfit for each room that very day, even down to the kitchen, scullery, and servants' sitting room that had originally been a dairy. With a modern icebox and ice deliveries every day, it was no longer needed, and I'm sure that Cecile, Pierre, and whomever else I hired would appreciate a comfortable place to retire to. It was even more comfortable with the fireplace I had installed for their use.

The rest of the house caused Lise to go into raptures with all of its "prettiness," as she called it. The parlor was done in blue and gray and walnut (to match the walnut flooring in the rest of the house), and I did silhouettes of Lise and myself to hang on the wall to the right. Mirrors added light to the room, and candles added the right touch at night.

The dining room had a fabulous walnut table, chairs,buffet, and china closetset, andthe wallshad been papered in a red silk. The library was pine wood with wood-paneling, and it had a good fireplace to keep the room warm and to avoid mold. The music room was done in gold and red (much like the opera house), and it had a large piano, my violin, flute, music stands, and its own library of sheet music kept in a waterproof cabinet. Large chairs and a mirror helped to rest and inform the musician on his stance and progress.

The library was a challenge to furnish. I ordered tables, a chalkboard, chairs, and benches, all in matching wood for Lise's classroom area. A bookshelf holding her schoolbooks was in that corner, and a cabinet held all necessary supplies and materials. Easy chairs and lamps in front of the fire provided a casual reading space. Once I provided a list of titles and subjects that I wanted, he purchased a complete library for us. The shelves were filled, and Lise and I spent a lot of our time there, enjoying one another's company and learning and reading.

Lise's room was the real treat. It was a room of light, that much was certain. White curtains, wide windows, white embossed wallpaper (which, according to Cecile, had taken forever to get so pristine), a cream colored rug patterned with pink roses covered the walnut hardwood floor, and a tester bed with a white canopy made the room a heaven on the second floor. White cloths for the mantel over the fireplace, tables, and vanity completed the picture.

If that had been all in the room, it still would have been quite bare, and I wasn't too willing to make my daughter's room seem like amiser's child's room. I added to it: pretty little throw pillows, a small sofa and easy-chair in the front of the fire, bookshelves full of books, a toy cabinet, and I added several pictures to the walls. One I had drawn and painted myself, and Lise was enchanted with the castle, mysterious fairy princess (that I had given her face), and the garden surrounding both.

I played for Lise whenever she asked me to. It would usually be in the evening, and she would bring her book and I would play for her. Sometimes she would sit for hours in her chair, listening, her book forgotten, and when I stopped, she would whisper that I should play some more. I usually would, and what musical evenings we'd have! Brahms, Strauss, Handel, Beethoven, Bach, Vivaldi, and countless other artists made their ways into the music room to delight and enchant my little girl.

My little girl. Yes, I called her that now. Since I was "Papa" to her, it was only natural that she should be "Daughter" to me. And what a daughter: she never showed the slightest desire for anyone else but her papa, and the greatest tragedy to her would be not having my company.

We spent our days in the same way for weeks and weeks after we were settled in our home. We would breakfast together in the mornings, and afterwards, we would set our things in order so we would cause no difficulties for Cecile when she came to clean. After that, we went into the library to begin Lise's lessons and my research. Since she had mastered reading and writing so quickly, I began other subjects with her. Mathematics followed, of course, as did geography, history, grammar, composition, some science, and languages. She picked up Spanish with alacrity, so I began on English with her. My child would be well educated, I would see to that.

After our lunch, we would put on our outdoor things and walk about outside on our land. A small copse had become a favorite spot with her, so she and I spent one mild wintry afternoon tying branches up with twine and ribbons to make a natural playhouse for her, complete with an entrance and a window, with a curtain of ivy over all. It was fabulous to sit under dry branches that would be green splendor in the summer and pretend to be a wandering knight or valiant minstrel while she was always queen. I would be lying if I said that she didn't rule me, for she ruled me completely. Before she woke in the morning I failed to feel the sunlight, but once she rose, I was dazzled with the glory of her beauty that shone with a light greater than the sun. I loved her beyond reason and description.

She demanded music. She wanted not only for me to play, but for me to teach her how to play herself. I tried teaching her the flute and violin, but the piano was her very favorite.She wanted to know how to read music, how to make her own compositions, and what all sorts of instruments were. And she wanted to sing. I was hesitant about teaching her to sing, but, with the way of all children, she insisted. I acquiesced, but I was certain never to allow her to attempt something beyond her fledgling capabilities.

What did we sing? Mostly scales and solfeggio; vocal exercises that worked her range and pronunciation. After that, we would move on to old French, English, and Celtic folk songs. I had gathered quite a collection in my travels, so I never lacked for simple material. It seemed that it was not the great composers' songs that people sang, but the songs their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents had enjoyed. Simple songs for simple people who had little, if any, musical training but still enjoyed music. The simplest tunes that were easy to sing were the ones that were still sung hundreds of years after being created. It was not long before I could hear her singing "Scarborough Fair," "Alouette," and "Dulaman" throughout the house.

Space

Slowly, winter turned to spring. Flowers came up in our garden, and Lise took delight in each one. More than one morning I would wake up hearing her laughter outside as she ran about like a fairy, bare-footed and soaked with dew as she looked at the flowers. The dry branches I had thought to be ivy were, in fact, roses, so her miniature woodland palace became all the more enchanting, and it was there I often found her, with a crown of flowers on her head and singing, still bare-footed and the hem of her nightgown soaked with more dew and a little mud.

Fairy that she was, she was growing, and she would soon need new clothes. How _could_ one little being grow so fast? It was beyond my capabilities to understand, so I made the arrangements at the same shops we had visited before, this time for a summer wardrobe. I prepared myself for the trip by wearing a kid mask that shared my flesh tone, so it hardly looked as if I werewearing a mask at all.As we drove by, few people noticedus, and I was relieved. Lise was elated at going to town in an open carriage, and it was all I could do to get her to sit down sometimes. She kept leaping up to lean over the side to see the cobblestones below us, and I, with a pounding heart, would pull her back into her seat before she could fall.

"Oh, Papa," Lise said, the sixth time this happened. "I like to see the street!"

"_Ma chere_, I know you like to see it, but I wouldn't want you to fall out of the carriage," I told her. "You could get run over, and then what would your poor papa do?"

At that, she flung her little arms around my neck and kissed me, not on my mask, but on my chin, where there was no mask. "I'll never leave you, Papa!" she cried, holding onto me. "I never could! I love you so much it hurts!"

I wrapped my arms around her as well. "I love you, too, Lise," was all I could get out around the lump in my throat. "It hurts me, too, but I'm glad it does."

I wondered what the carriage driver thought of us.

Space

Our shopping was a whirlwind that left us both dazed but happy. Once in the dress shop,we were greeted warmly by the same woman who had served us before, and all three of us began to outfit Lise for summer. Cottons, raime, linens, muslins, and poplins werechosen for her dresses, and instead of wool stockings or underthings, I ordered cotton. This would help keep her cool.

The real fun came when wewent to the milliner's.I had thought that winter hats were varied and ostentatious enough, butI had no idea that there were so many types of summer hats! I ordered lightstraw bonnets and hats, and a stiff straw boater. I allowed Lise tochoose the trimmings and frou-frou that went on them:I had no idea how to satisfactorily decorate ahat, but it was something she loveddoing. Her taste was impeccable, and the final products were quite pleasing. They weren't overgrown "statements"with toweringfeathers and streamers that somewomen preferred, but instead they were small and tasteful and pretty.

I ordered cotton and silkgloves at the glover's, and at the cobblers I had walking shoes and slippers made up forher after her feet were re-measured. Like the rest of her, her feethad grown. We also bought a few parasols that would go with her newoutfits so she could guard herself from sunburn.

After lunch in a cafe and a trip to a bookshop (I swear, I only bought her three books. That wasn't many.)we headed home. Our packages were picked up on the way out of town, and we sat them on the seat across from us. She leaned against me forthe whole trip and even closed hereyes for most of it. She seemedvery tired.

"Are you all right, Lise?" I asked when we were almost home.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I was just thinking."

"Of what,_ma chere_?"

"Maman, and how she wouldcelebrate my birthday."

"Oh?" Isaid, wishing her to tell me more. Whata fool I had been to not remember to find out her birthday!

"Yes.She would have abreakfast pastry for me in the morning while she sang to me, and I always got a pretty new ribbon for my hair."

"That sounds very nice," Itold her, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "When is your birthday?"

"Maman told me that it was April 1st."

I found myself smiling. April Fools'Day. How appropriate, and it was in just a week and a half. Plenty of timeto prepare.

"Well, we'll have to do something," I said,as she startedcoughing. "Lise? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, burrowinginto my shoulder. "Just dust in my throat."

I gave her something to drink from a flask of water, and she sat quietlyuntil wereached home. She leapt out of the carriage and flew about the place, crying hello to Cecile andtelling her that we were back. I was left to carry the packages in, and together Cecile and I put her new things away whileLise told Pierre all about our trip to town.

After dinner that night, Lise seemed unusuallyquiet, and not even music drewher out. When I asked her, she said that she was only tired. I thought it was fromourbig day together, so I suggested that she go to bed early. Surprisingly, she did as I asked. Ihelped her into her nightgown, tucked her in, and read her astory, and by the time it was finished, she was sound asleep.

Space

"Papa! Papa!"

I jerked out of a sound sleep atthat cry and flung myself out of bed and scurried down the hall to Lise'sroom. Once her door was open, I could hear her crying.

"Lise? What is it, my love? What's the matter?"

"Oh, Papa," she croaked. "I don't feel so good."

Hurriedly, I lit a lamp and flung thecovers off of her, even though she was shivering. Bright redcircles on her cheeks glowed in the dim light, and as I looked down her throat, I felt ill myself. She had a high fever, a red throat and tongue, and I could see a red rash on her chest. I had seen these symptoms too many times not to know what waswrong: She had a very bad case of scarlet fever. Mychild was terribly ill.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

How I reached the street outside I had no idea. I also had no idea how or when I had dressed, but I had dressed sometime between leaving Lise's side and reaching the street. Now I was rushing down the street of our little district towards the area's one doctor, and I was praying that he was home. I had never met him, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from procuring aid for my little girl.

All of the windows were dark, but I flew up the stairs and pounded on the front door. (Most likely they thought a madman had attacked their door.) I kept pounding, determined to break it down if need be, but a light going on upstairs showed that action to be unnecessary. A minute later, the door opened, revealing an older woman holding an oil lamp. When she saw me, she screamed and tried to slam the door, but I threw my weight against it, preventing it from shutting.

"Auguste!" she screamed. "Auguste! Help! There's a bandit down here with a mask! Auguste!"

She fled from the door, allowing me to spill inside onto the hall rug, and as I picked myself up she kept screaming. Apparently my mask frightened her.

"Auguste!" she shrieked and retreated down the hallway, not daring to take her eyes from me. "Auguste!"

A man appeared on the stairs, pistol in hand, and when he saw me he leveled it at me, preparing to fire. "Who are you, and why have you broken into my house?" he demanded. "Tell me, quickly!"

"I am sorry, _Docteur,_ but my child is very ill," I said, trying to get the words out of my mouth. It seemed as if my tongue had rebelled against me and was making it difficult to speak. Relieved at having the doctor's attention, I was trembling and shaking like an old man with palsy. "I am Monsieur Devereaux, and I moved into the neighborhood just last month. I beg of you, please come quickly! I think it is scarlet fever!"

The doctor nodded, put away the pistol, and said to his wife, "Get that man some brandy or wine, Catherine. He's going to need it." So saying, he flew back up the stairs and disappeared.

_Madame le Docteur_ fetched me both wine _and_ brandy, and I downed both, one after another. I think I still frightened her, but she had at least stopped screaming. She regarded me with wide eyes and a pale face, but I ignored the way she watched me. All I paid attention to was the sound of movement upstairs and the following footsteps coming down. A moment later and he came into the parlor where we waited.

"All right, let's go," he said, pulling on his coat. "Do you have any servants in the house?"

"Only two, a maid and a gardener, and they do not sleep at the house."

He nodded. "Catherine, I will need your help, then," he said to his wife. "As soon as you're dressed, come to Monsieur Devereaux's. You know the house?"

She nodded, looking terror-stricken, but she looked determined to do what she could. The doctor and I left, and it took all of my self-control not to run back home. As it was, as soon as I had the door open, I broke into a run and rushed to Lise's room, leaving the doctor to follow.

Lise lay there in her little white bed, looking tiny and ill. Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and she was very quiet. The tears on her face stood out like glaze on white porcelain, and she looked almost like the wax sculptures in the Grevin museum.

"Lise?" I whispered, drawing close to her bed. "Lise, _ma chere_, are you all right?"

My heart stopped as she opened her eyes and looked at me. She still looked miserable, but she tried to smile.

"I've brought a doctor, Lise."

Again a smile.

"Well, let's see what there is to see," the doctor said, coming close. "_Bonsoir, mademoiselle_," he said, smiling. "I am Doctor Massenet. I've come to help you get better. Can you open your mouth for me?"

I waited; the epitome of the anxious father while the doctor made his examination. Without realizing it, I had begun to pace, but the arrival of Madame Massenet curtailed my restless journey up and down the floor. She questioned me in a shaking voice about what I had in my larder and how we obtained our water, and once she had her answers, she disappeared.

It seemed an eternity before the doctor turned to me.

"She's asleep," he said quietly. "It _is_ scarlet fever. Her fever has come down a little, and hopefully this means that the infection is a slight one. Catherine and I will have to be quarantined here with you until she is completely well."

I nodded. "Of course," I said, thinking how I could provide sleeping quarters for them. I hadn't planned on having guests while outfitting my home, but I decided to share Lise's room with her and place the married couple in my room. That way, they would at least have a modicum of privacy.

Space

The next day, the doctor placed a sign reading "_Mis en quarantine! Scarlatine!_" on my front door and gate. Cecile, seeing it, called her good wishes to us and disappeared for an hour, returning when she had a basket full of food that was already prepared. She also brought a bottle of pure alcohol and some camphor to aid in the elimination of germs. Sometimes, the doctor said, alcohol would kill disease when nothing else would.

Madame Massenet was an angel in a blue merino dress. She darted back and forth all the time, bringing hot water and cloths for Lise's baths, prepared soups, teas, and cereals for the little sick one, and made certain that I and her husband ate, drank, and slept. Regularly she wiped down all the surfaces with the alcohol and rubbed camphor on Lise's chest whenever she coughed. She took the deliveries of food from Cecile, who often would bring stews, bread, cheese, and fruit to the back door. Those two worthy women ensured our survival during Lise's illness.

I slept in a chair in Lise's room. I would often sleep only when Lise slept, making certain that she would see her papa was always watching over her.

One night, I fell asleep in my chair, unable to keep my eyes open any longer. I woke to the hum of voices and candlelight, and I sat up all the way, trying to understand what I was hearing. The clock in the hallway struck two.

"I'll wake him," I heard the doctor say. "He'd want me to."

"I just woke," I said, getting to my feet. "What is the matter?"

I saw Lise in the bed behind him, and I felt my heart begin to pound painfully in my chest. Lise's fever had come back, I could tell that right away. Her cheeks were red, her hair was damp with perspiration, her eyes were glazed, and she was muttering, delirious with fever.

"_No_," I moaned, going to her side. "Oh, please, God."

I thought I had lived through hell before. This was infinitely worse. That night and the succeeding days and nights passed for me in a blur, and at the center of that blur was Lise, fevered and raging. She screamed at monsters that we could not see, cried aloud at horrors we could not witness, and called out for me in such a piteous voice that I began to hold her whenever I could. I forgot about food and sleep, and I left Lise only when absolutely necessary. I remember a priest arriving at some point, most likely called by the doctor or Madame Massenet. I heard the prayers of the Last Rites and I lost my mind as the prayers were being said. Doctor Massenet told me later that I had begun to cry, and I continued to cry until I fell asleep, exhausted with emotion, my arms still around my little girl.

I dreamed during that exhausted sleep. I was in a place that seemed to have no substance and nothing to see, but the _feeling_ of the place convinced me that I was not there alone. Remembering Lise, I began to sob again, unable to keep myself from emoting.

_What is the matter?_ someone asked. _Why do you weep?_

Amazed that there was someone who could _not_ know my only reason for living was slipping away from me, I stammered out, "My child is dying!"

_How do you know?_

"A priest came!" I cried, feeling tears wet my face under my mask. "He gave her the Last Rites! She is dying!"

_Ah, I see. Why is this child so important to you?_

"She gives me a reason to live! Without her, life is nothing! It is a curse, and she makes it into a blessing!"

_How is life a curse? Are you not glad to live?_

I was still weeping like a child. Frustrated, I blurted out the story of my entire life: what had happened to me, how people reacted to me, all of the horrible things I had done, how the one woman I had loved did not love me, and then my joy at finding Lise, who loved me totally and without reservation. She loved me—I!—the creature that the whole world hated and hunted.

_I see why you would call life a curse and that child a blessing. She loves you._

"Yes, she does," I moaned, trying to swallow my tears. "And I love her, too. Oh, _God_, I love her! I don't want her to die!"

_I know you do not, but what if the only release she will have from her pain is death?_

I hadn't thought of that, but I knew that I wouldn't want her to have a life of pain. My feelings didn't matter. If by dying she gained relief from pain, then I would accept it, but I was certain I would never be happy again. This thought made my tears return and caused me to sob aloud in acceptance. It would be selfish of me to ask her to live if she would only have a life of pain and illness.

Arms went around me then, supporting me and warming me. I flung myself into this person's shoulder and howled, unable to keep myself from doing so. I wept until I was exhausted, but still, I was held, much as a parent comforts a child when he is overwhelmed by some childish grief. This person continued to hold me as I closed my eyes, too tired to keep them open any longer. My eyes were still closed as my comforter began to speak.

_Oh, my beloved child, you are beautiful to me. Despite a life of pain, hatred, torture, and grief, you are still able to find it in your heart to love. Love is always good, for it is love that makes you who you are, and not hatred. As long as you love, you are good and precious to me._

Still feeling as if I were wrapped in those arms of acceptance and love, I woke, seeing the sunshine pouring in the window of Lise's room. Slowly, I became aware that there was someone sitting next to me, gazing at me with warmth and affection.

"Good morning, Papa," Lise said, smiling, all trace of illness gone from her eyes. "You're such a sleepyhead! I've been awake for an hour, but Madame Massenet said I had better let you sleep."

It is quite likely that I had surprised her by choking, wrapping her in my arms, and sobbing, but I heard Madame Massenet say that Papa had had a very rough few days.

Once I was calm, the doctor told me that after a week and a half, Lise was perfectly fine. Remembering what Lise had said in the carriage on the way home from our shopping trip, I gave her a kiss and said, "Happy Birthday, Lise."

It was the first day of April, her birthday, and a glorious day.


	7. Chapter 7

New hats and seashore holidays to my reviewers!

L.G./Christine Daae: I've missed you, too. I'm still here. I was only working on my other projects for a while.

Zen: I'm so glad you kept reading it over and over! Thank you so much!

Fop Hunter: I'm so happy you like it! Wait no longer, my friend, here's more.

Psycogirl234: Updating.

Passedover: Erik is a mix of Eriks. He is Kay, Leroux, movies, and musical. He's just a composite of all the Phantoms I've seen. (And I've seen a lot…) We'll learn more about Lise in this chapter. Keep reading, please!

Spruce Goose Mach 2: I know. I cried while writing it. I'm glad you like it.

AngelUndertheOpera: Beautiful and tears were what I was going for. I cried while I was writing it and thinking it up.

Wiseupjanetweiss: I'm glad Lise lived, too. It would have been too unfair to Erik to have her die! Thank you very much!

Chapter 7

Docteur Massenet suggested that I take Lise to the seashore for her convalescence. Remembering that the seashore is usually packed with people, I prevaricated and stammered, but he understood.

"I have a very good travel agent," he told me. "Catherine and I often take sabbaticals together, and we prefer to be alone much of the time. I'll have him try to find you a private place near the sea that you and Lise can enjoy without having countless people about you."

I told Cecile of our intentions, and she offered to come with us. She had no other engagements in town, and she confessed that she had always wanted to see the ocean. Seeing her eager face, I couldn't say no and asked the travel agent to book a private compartment on our train. There would be room for all three of us, and there would be no gawkers to make any of us uncomfortable.

Lise was elated when I told her what we were going to do. She tired easily, and she felt that plenty of sun and surf was what she needed.

"Sun and surf?" I said, surprised at the child's phrasing. "Where did you hear that?"

"In a book," she said, holding it up. It was a book of stories for children, and the story she was reading at the moment described a family who lived by the sea and enjoyed "sun and surf" every day.

A letter from the agent arrived after a week and a half, describing three cottages that were free at the moment. One, however, sounded ideal. It rested on a small bluff above a private beach, and sturdy stone stairs led down the water and sand. A private garden stood behind it, and meadows surrounded it on three sides, with the tip of a forest meeting us at the north. Only a cart track led to it, and the nearest town was over five miles away. Wonderfully private and roomy! I wrote back, naming that cottage as the one we wanted, and said that we would like to move in as soon as possible and spend the summer and the beginning of autumn there.

Under my instructions, Cecile carried out the necessary shopping since I didn't want to leave Lise. I gave her a checkbook full of checks with my signature and empty amount spaces on them, so she could write whatever amount she bought. Also, I told her to do whatever shopping she needed for herself and asked her to spend whatever she needed. She came back with beach wardrobes for Lise and I, and for herself she had bought a bathing costume, a beach outfit, new summer shoes, cold cream for any sunburn, and a large, floppy straw hat with a white lace ribbon. Whenever I needed to find her that summer, I looked for that hat first.

We left one Friday after bidding the doctor and Madame farewell. Pierre, our gardener, was asked to watch after our home for us, and I increased his wages so he would be inclined to do so. After seeing us off at the station, he promptly lavished such care on the garden that he won an award from the Paris Gardener's Society. We learned this when we returned home, and every time I thought of it, I had to smile.

Our cottage was perfect, and Lise fell in love with it. Some enterprising soul had planted wildflowers in the front garden, so every day we found crocuses, lavender, asters, gentians, poppies, and edelweiss blooming outside our door. The meadows beyond were filled with even more flowers, and every day Lise would bring some bouquets into the house to decorate the rooms with.

Lise adored swimming. I could swim (living by the lake under the Opera required me to know how), and so I began teaching Lise. She looked so beautiful in her blue sailor bathing costume! I, however, looked morbid in my black one. Nonetheless, we went swimming every day it did not storm. Cecile went with us, and she swam, but nothing could induce her to go out where she could not touch the bottom. Lise and I splashed about in the shallows and chased waves, and we raced one another (Lise always won), and I taught Lise how to float on her back.

When we did not swim, we explored the forest or built creations in the sand. I made a castle for Lise very early one morning, and she cried when she saw the tide coming in to wash it away! I resolved to make any castles far from the high-tide mark from then on.

Some nights, we slept out in the garden under a tent made of mosquito netting when it was too warm in the house. Stretched out on blankets, Lise, Cecile, and I would stare up at the stars above, trying to make out constellations through the mesh that kept hungry little insects at bay. Nothing was more relaxing than hearing crickets at night and birds in the morning.

Lise and I would take walks together, talking about things. I learned more about Lise. She was a little scrap of a girl, about two inches shorter than other little girls her age, but she was much more intelligent a six-year-old than those I had seen. Music, architecture, and animals all figured in conversations, until Lise read of angels. After that, she asked me all sorts of questions about angels, and there were times when I could not get her to switch to another topic. She began to draw angels, learn songs about angels, and she read everything she could find about angels. One rainy day, she curled up with a Bible until she found every possible passage about angels that she could locate. I began to wonder why she was so interested.

One afternoon, we were out in the meadow. I was sitting on a bank, taking every little nosegay that Lise handed me, and she was busy picking flowers and humming.

"Lise," I said, interrupting her. "Why do you want to know so much about angels?"

She stopped what she was doing and looked thoughtful. "I guess it's because of my angel."

"What angel?" I asked, surprised.

"Well, when I was sick, I saw an angel. He told me not to be afraid, and that I would be well soon. He also said that my papa would always watch over me. That's why I want to know so much about angels. I want to know if they're all as wonderful as he was."

"Oh, I think they are," I said, feeling very surprised. "What did your angel look like?"

She smiled, looking as beatific as the angels themselves. "He was beautiful! Just beautiful! And he sang!"

"Sang? Sang what?" I was thinking of a rex gloriae or something similar, but she said that it was something that couldn't have a name we could understand.

This surprised me. She had been visited by an angel? Could it be? Lise ran off to the other side of the meadow after handing me her doll, asking me to watch her for her. I stood and wandered about the meadow for a little, thinking about what Lise had told me. It was then I heard it:

Sur le pont d'Avignon,  
L'on y danse, l'on y danse,  
Sur le pont d'Avignon  
L'on y danse tout en rond.  
Les beaux messieurs font comme ça  
Et puis encore comme ça.  
Sur le pont d'Avignon  
L'on y danse tout en rond.

I held a bouquet of flowers, a child's doll, there was the roaring of the sea behind me, I was in a meadow wearing a summer suit and straw boater, and I was hearing Lise sing about the bridge in Avignon! It was my dream all over again!

Suddenly, I felt very odd. It was as if God had been planning for that moment for a long time. Feeling as if everything was right with the world, I went to catch up with Lise.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Lise reminded me of a flower that had found a favorable climate in which to grow. Slowly but surely, she began to gain back her strength and become once more the strong little girl I had fallen in love with. She spent the summer days on the beach, in the meadow, or in the nearby woods. She showed me all that she did there, and oneafternoon, she surprisedme byshowing me her "palace." It was nothing but a little hollow under a willow tree next to a stream, but shedeclared that it was a green-painted palace withvaulted ceilings and a fountain (I supposed it was the stream) out in front of it. We spent several days there playingqueen and knight, and sometimes, we played Echo. She'd sing something, and I would sing something, and I would tryto imitate her piping soprano so much that she could hardly breathe for laughing.

Onemorning, Lise surprised me when she said that she was going to have afairy hunt.She said that she'd seen fairies in the meadow, and she intended to catch one to take home with her. I hid my smilewhen she asked me for a fairy trap, so I gave her a butterfly net instead and provided alidded picnic basket for her to keep them in. Insisting I come with her, we set off for the meadow, leaving Cecile in the kitchen chuckling about fairies.

"Where are your fairies, Lise?" I asked as we reached the center of the meadow. "Do you think they're hiding?"

She looked thoughtful. "They might be," she said, but suddenly her little figure was rigid and she shot off, swinging the net. "I found one, Papa, I found one! Come quick, bring the basket!"

Wondering what on earth she could have caught, I hurried over with the basket, to see her holding the net over...a butterfly. I laughed, seeing what it was, for I remembered reading a book to her about fairies, and their wings had looked remarkably like a butterfly's. No wonder she thought they were fairies!

"That's a butterfly, Lise," I said, helping her lift the net so she could get a close look at it. "The wings look like a fairy's though, don't they?"

"I thought it was a real fairy," she said, looking crestfallen. "I could have taken her home and kept her in my room."

I decided to deal with this. I couldn't have her wishing to coop creatures up. "Well, do you think the fairy would have been happy in your room?"

Lise nodded, letting the butterfly go. "She could have played with my toys and read my books when she wasn't playing with me."

"What if fairies like to be in the sunshine more?" I suggested. "You see, they are creatures of the air and light. Do you think they would have liked to be away from it for a long time?"

"I suppose not," she said, looking thoughtful. "Do you think fairies are real, Papa?"

Looking at the sprite before me, I nodded. "Yes, Lise, I think they are very real."

Space

By the time September came, she seemed as if she had never been ill. We returned home, and Lise was perfectly happy to see the house again, with or without her fairy. She ran from one room to the other, shouting "Hello! Hello, house!" in every space she could, enjoying the sound of her voice bouncing off the walls.

Cecile was happy to be home again once more. She had been sunburned no few times, and her nose was peeling like old paint. She said hello to her kitchen and began setting it to rights, making no little amount of noise.

We received a visit from the Doctor and Madame Massenet, and they both voiced their relief at seeing Lise so well-recovered. Again, I thanked them for all their kindness, and that was when I realized that they were glad to see me as well. As I showed them out that evening, I heard Madame Massenet remark to her husband "The poor man looks much better than he did during her illness. This summer by the sea did wonders for them both."

It was true. I stood that night in Lise's room, watching her sleep, and I felt as if I couldn't bear how much I loved her. I loved her with an intensity that robbed my body of breath and my mind of sense. All I could think of was my little girl. I felt as if my purpose in life had been unkown until I had found Lise: I was to bring this child up and love her, so that she would know what love was, so that she could be spared the pain of what I had been through; a life without love.

Every morning that fall, and for years afterward, every morning without fail brought Lise into my room with the first morning light, where she would bounce on my bed to wake me. Some mornings I would pretend to be asleep so her fun wouldn't be spoiled. Other times, I would spring from my bed, scoop her up, and swing her about, making her laugh. I don't think I ever failed to wake up without a smile on my face.

However, one morning in late October, I woke with an awful headache. Lise took one look at me, asked Cecile for a cup of tea for Papa, and she ran off to the doctor's house herself, saying that Papa was ill. Doctor Massenet came, examined me, and then chuckled, saying that I had quite an assiduous little nurse. It was a slight cold, nothing more, and for the three days I had to stay in bed, I had a devoted nurse in Lise and inCecile, who alwaysdid whatever Lise told her to in their attempts to get Papa well.I must have had countlesscups of tea during those three days (China must have sold their entire crop of tea to Lise, I had so much tea!) and every few hours broughtLise with another bowl of chicken soup. Lise read to me, played cards with me, and shetaught mehow to crochet (her idea, not mine) a doily. I detected Cecile's hand in teaching the child this new type of handiwork, for all I had taught her had been plain sewing! (Indeed, I had to know how to mend my clothes, there was no one else to mend them for me in all of those years at the Opera!) Cecile passed by my open door when Lise was correcting a mistake of mine, and the poor girl burst out laughing and fled to her kitchen, where I could hear her banging pots and pans in an attempt to cover her merriment. I saw nothing funny.

I recovered from my cold, and November came upon us, bleak and gray. Lise seemed depressed at the monochromatic world outside, so I began to give her drawing and painting lessons, where she could make her own colorful landscapes. When I saw the end results of her first attempt, I began to wonder if my child was color blind, for her use of it was completely bizarre. When I asked her why she had made the sky purple, yellow, and red, she looked at me very seriously and said, "Papa, can't you tell it's a_ pretend_ sky?"

Of course, that explained it.

It was the middle of November before I realized that Christmas was coming. Our first Christmas! It couldn't pass unmarked, of that much I was certain. So, I planned yet another shopping trip, but this time, Cecile was to come with us. While I shopped for the two of them, Pierre, and the Massenets, Cecile was to take Lise and look for a gift for Papa. Our trip was set for the first day of December, and Lise was a bundle of excitement. I do not need to say that I was a bundle of excitement as well.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I woke early on the morning of December first. I was up and dressed, and for the first time I could remember, I was the one waking Lise up. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her on the cheek, and she wrapped her little arms around my neck in response before she woke up and realized that Papa was there. That won me a stronger hug and a kiss, and she giggled.

"Good morning, Papa," she said. "Are we still going to go to Paris today?"

"Yes, and we have to get you ready," I said, carrying her over to her wardrobe. "What would you like to wear today?"

Lise giggled again and wiggled out of my arms, saying that she was going to surprise me. I was shooed out of her room, and laughing, I headed downstairs for breakfast. Cecile must have arrived very early, for it was all ready and waiting when I arrived in the dining room. The tea was even ready to be poured. I could hear her bustling about in the kitchen, so I stopped in to say hello and to thank her for all of her hard work. She wore a black and white checkered apron over her town dress, and she gave me a cheeky smile.

"I figured that it would be an early start today," she said, putting things away. "Either you or Lise would have insisted on it!"

I laughed and commented that she was probably right, and I went back to the dining room to wait for Lise to come down.

When she stepped into the dining room, my little girl was a vision in white. Her dress was entirely white and covered with white lace, and the only thing that was not white was the sapphire blue sash around her waist, the same color cloak she carried over her arm, and a bonnet of the same color she carried in her hands. Added to that was a white fur muff, and she was gorgeous. I think my heart actually stopped beating for a moment. A man is truly happy when his daughter launches herself into his arms for a hug. I know that I was that December morning.

Space

We rode into Paris in a covered carriage, which even had the luxury of lapblankets and cushioned seats to keep away the cold. I was relieved, since lately I had grown to dislike the cold: It had never bothered me in the Opera cellars, but now! I felt it as keenly as an old man of ninety. I kept my hands encased in gloves that had been lined with lamb's wool, a gift from the good doctor and his wife when I complained about pains in my hands when the weather began to grow cold. Apparently, he said, I had the beginnings of arthritis, and if I did not take care, I would lose movement in my fingers and joints. I intended to take good care indeed, for to lose the ability to play music would have killed me.

Lise chose to shop once more at Le Bon Marche, and as we went inside, I became very aware of the press of people. Even this early in the season, people were crowded into the store, rushing about and trying to buy gifts while talking so loudly that one could hear nothing else. I had to lean against a door frame for a few moments, taking deep breaths and fighting off a feeling of overwhelming panic and dizziness. My God! I, who had no problems with the crowds at the Opera as the Phantom, now had a moment of faintness when faced with the same number of people in a department store as an ordinary shopper! Incredible!

"Are you all right, Papa?" Lise asked, her little brow wrinkled in concern for me.

"Yes, _ma chere,_ I'm fine," I said after a few more deep breaths. "I just had to stop for a moment, that's all."

She did not look convinced, but her worry quickly melted away when she spotted the displays! She rushed here and there, dragging Cecile and me in her wake, exclaiming over every new Yuletide delight that met her eyes.

St. Nicholas' Day was usually the day that children received gifts, but I planned to have gifts for her on that day and on Christmas Eve and Day as well. Would she be spoiled? Not at all. I was the one spoiling myself, since I was buying everything for her that I wanted her to have. In addition to gifts, we would have a Yule Log, as well as a Buche de Noel for our table, and we would have a _creche_ with a complete set of _santons_. The manger scene in the Bible had always been one of my favorites, and now, I had a reason to have a _creche_ at Christmas time. Also, we would need ornaments and decorations: holly, pine branches, red ribbon, candy canes, glass bulbs, small white tapers, oranges and cloves, chocolate _bonbons_ wrapped in gold foil, and miniature toys. We needed to decorate our walls and possibly a Christmas tree. It was not a popular custom, but it was a custom that I was sure Lise would like. After all, you could pick candy from a tree and eat it! We also needed things to entertain with, such as tablecloths and party dishes, since I intended to invite Doctor and Madame Massenet for a holiday party. Lise would adore playing the little hostess.

We made the most needed purchases first: the holiday party supplies. Cecile shared her considerable knowledge about tables and table settings, and together we purchased a damask tablecloth trimmed with lace crocheted in star patterns for Christmas. Added to that were a set of crystal dishes (the price made Cecile gasp) and some new silver with a holly motif. We were prepared to entertain, thank goodness.

Next came shopping for gifts. While Cecile and Lise went off to shop for Papa and Cecile's family, I went shopping on my own. I wandered into the toy department, glancing about at the many displays. My wallet became noticeably shrunken over the next hour, but I felt it was worth it.

We met up once more after arranging to have all of our packages delivered at home. We headed to the shops outside of Le Bon Marche in order to buy our Christmas dinner. At the butcher's I ordered a very large ham that was to be delivered the day before Christmas, sausages for Christmas Eve, and a chicken for St. Nicholas' day. I saw Lise's eyes go very round when she saw the size of the ham.

"I didn't know they grew so big!" she said, holding onto my hand. "Are we really going to eat that, Papa? We won't be able to!"

I assured her that we wouldn't have any problem with it on Christmas.

After that we went to a greengrocer's for vegetables (such as we could get in December) and we were lucky enough to get some dried vegetables that could be cooked and would taste just fine. Herbs for soups, sauces, and gravies followed. We stopped in a pastry shop for cookies and fine pastries for our party that were beyond Cecile's skill to make, and then we stopped in a confectioner's.

Lise became very, very quiet. She stared around the shop at the chocolates, marzipan, divinity, and countless other delights that were waiting to be put into boxes, taken home, and enjoyed. There were striped sticks of candy of different flavors, lollipops, different types of mints, licorice, gum drops, lemon drops, and things I didn't even know the name of. Lise looked at all of them, taking them in. Knowing that I would probably pay for it later, once we had obtained our holiday candies, I asked the woman behind the counter to make up a box of candy for Lise, one with all the candies I had seen her looking at. When she asked me what size of box I wanted, I asked for the largest box they had. Then I told Lise that she could pick out any type of candy she wanted and get some from each batch to put into her box. Into that treasure chest went so many different pieces that my head spun and I was reminded of a pirate's hoard. She chose chocolates, gumdrops, candy sticks, mints, and I don't know what else. I did notice that she asked Cecile what her favorite type of candy was and got some of that for her. Then, she asked me.

I had not been given candy as a child. Even when I had money (and I had a good deal of it as an adult) I had not bought candy. I'd seen it as frivolous, but now it seemed all-important. What type of candy did I like? I considered this for a few moments, and then asked her what she thought I should have.

Lise smiled a sunbeam, and then pointed to some bright red lozenges. "Those, Papa! I've seen them in a book! They're made with cinnamon, and they're selicious!"

"You mean 'delicious,'" I corrected.

"That's right," she affirmed. "Selicious."

I decided to let it be for the time. Besides, it was adorable.

Space

Our house shortly became transformed for the holidays. Red and green candles were everywhere, and garlands of pine and holly festooned the walls in the rooms downstairs. A large red velvet ribbon and more pine garland flowed down the stair railings, and dishes of candy were placed all over the house. The mantelpiece was covered with a lacy cloth that had a Christmas star pattern, and Lise had insisted on sprinkling holly leaves over it and the matching cloths on the endtables. Shortly our house looked festive enough for five Christmases, instead of just one.

On the night before St. Nicholoas' Day, Lise and I set her shoes in front of her fireplace, as well as a tiny bundle of hay and a carrot for St. Nicholas' donkey. While I tucked her into bed I told her the story (for the thousandth time) about how St. Nicholas had been watching her all year long and was going to give her gifts in exchange for being such a good girl.

"He'll only come after you're asleep," I told her, tucking her coverlet in around her shoulders.

"What if I pretend I'm asleep?" she asked, looking very excited. "I'll be able to see him!"

"He'll stay away, then, because he'll know you're awake," I told her as seriously as I could manage. "Just go to sleep, _ma chere_."

I left her after giving her a kiss good night, and I waited. And waited. That little monkey was still awake at midnight, and I was beginning to be tired. Around one, she nodded off, and I made myself wait a half-hour before I went in. I took the hay and carrot, replacing them with a franc in each shoe. Then, I set out her St. Nicholas' Day presents. There was a child's prayer book with gorgeous illustrations in it, a small doll that danced when you pulled a string, paper lady dolls, and a music box that played 'Fur Elise,' one of her favorite tunes. Then, very carefully, I crept out of the room, wondering just what I was going to do with the hay and carrot. I took both down to the kitchen with me when I went to set out Cecile's present. The carrot went into the root cellar, and the hay was put into a packing crate that was sitting beside the door.

The next morning, I woke to exclamations of delight from Lise's room. I went in, and I could hear the music box playing. Lise was looking at the paper dolls, oohing and ahhing over the many "frocks" that had come with them. She had only turned them about in her hands and had not dressed her dolls yet, but when she saw me, she yelped.

"PAPA! The ladies are not dressed yet! Wait until I call you!"

I retreated to the hallway, chuckling. Those "ladies" had been dressed only in the underwear that had been drawn on them!

I went back in when I heard her call me, and I was the immediate recipient of a hug.

"Good morning, Lise," I said. "Are the ladies all right?"

"They're fine, Papa, and thank you. St. Nicholas should have introduced us, though. As it was, we had to find out who we were on our own."

"Well, will you introduce me?" I asked, giving the bright little ladies a stately bow.

Lise giggled and introduced me to Lady Heloise, Countess Josephine, Lady Genevieve, Mistress Jeanne, and Lady Marie. Those bright little ladies figured often in later playtimes, and Lise would sometimes relate the ladies' doings over mealtimes. Other times, Lise would remark that such-and-such a lady she'd seen was just like Mistress Jeanne, and that she'd seen another woman wearing a frock that Countess Josephine would like. I began to wonder if the dolls weren't really alive, since Lise made them sound so real.

Space

We had a Christmas Eve party with Docteur and Madame Massenet coming to dinner. Games were played, refreshments and supper enjoyed, and of course, there was music and singing. As I had predicted, Lise had played the little hostess to perfection. One moment, she was offering more cookies or cake, another she was making certain everything was set out perfectly, and then, she was all in a pother because she thought our guests might be thirsty.

It was while we were singing "Adeste Fideles" that I realized just how much my life had changed. Here I was, in a normal house above ground, entertaining people and smiling with indulgence on my little daughter! I had been convinced that I would always be underground, but no, I wasn't. I was enjoying the sunlight and weather and change of seasons. I breathed fresh air all the time, instead of just once in a while, and I smiled more than I had ever done.

That night, when we said a Christmas prayer, I also said a prayer of thanksgiving.

Christmas morning was bright and clear with a new layer of snow. Everything was bright and beautiful outside, but since I had been up so late the night before, I was planning on enjoying it a little while longer from my bed. It was not to be, however. I heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet, my door flew open, and a tiny figure in a white nightdress came flying into my room, taking to the air and landing a moment later on my stomach.

"OOF!!" was all I was able to gasp.

"It's Christmas!" she shrieked happily. "Get up, Papa! It's Christmas! It's Christmas!"

"I'm trying," I told her, still gasping for air. "You'll have to get off of Papa's stomach first, Lise."

She happily complied and I sent her off to get her robe and slippers on while I pulled on mine. Once that was accomplished, she practically pulled me downstairs to the Christmas tree. St. Nicholas had returned, and he had left a sleigh-ful of presents underneath and around the tree, and what a tree! It had been decorated with all the ornaments we'd bought and the little taper candles until it glittered and glowed, and the creche underneath it was a charming little scene frozen in time. I stated that St. Nicholas had brought in and decorated the tree for my little girl, but in reality, it had been the Massenets and I who had done it, after Lise had been sent up to bed.

Surprisingly, Lise insisted that I open my gifts first. She deposited several lumpy packages on my lap and watched as I opened a scarf, a new portfolio for sheet music, cologne, some kind of whistle (a tin whistle from Ireland, I found out later), and a silver pocket watch and chain. I opened the lid, and I found inscribed on the inside, "To Papa, from his loving Lise." I would always wear that watch.

It was Lise's turn next. She opened a baby doll, a carved wooden chess set, toy animals and a Noah's ark, a stereoscope with plenty of pictures for it, a zoetrope with several strips, a kit that would allow her to make her own thaumatropes, a set of picture blocks, a skipping rope, building bricks, and several books. These books would begin to teach her what I could not: the niceties of society for a young girl. I knew the manners of a gentleman, but I could not teach her the manners of a lady. For that, I needed some outside help. There was a book on dress, another on table etiquette suitable for a lady, and another on deportment and grace. I knew that later we would need some sort of teacher, but in the meantime, the books would suffice.

Don't think I kept to only instructive books, either. I gave her several translations of the latest children's books as well as some larger books that I deemed suitable for her. Included in those books were novels and a music history book, which sent her into raptures. Her final gift was her own flute, sparkling in its case of blue velvet. At that gift, she wrapped her arms around my neck and would not let go.

It was a very, very good Christmas, and we had our Christmas dinner together. Cecile had set it up so we could serve ourselves and so she could go to her family's for Christmas (not that I would have kept her away). From a buffet in the dining room we could carry our plates into the parlor and eat there on a blanket picnic-style. Lise adored the idea, and we had our first Christmas dinner on the floor of our parlor. Cream vegetable soup, ham, duchess potatoes, peas, sausage wrapped in bacon, croissants, carrots with sugar, and then there were the desserts! There were sheets of pastry wrapped around fruit (those came from the shop), miniature pies with various fillings, Christmas cake with white icing, a Buche de Noel, and finally, a little castle made out of little lacey butter cookies and sprinkled with sugar (we had bought the cookies, but Cecile had made the castle). When Lise and I cleaned up afterwards, I was determined to increase Cecile's wages. Her cooking had something of divine inspiration about it.

We spent the afternoon walking outside in the sparkling snow, and I told Lise stories where snow fairies kept an eye on good little girls and boys from the parapets of castles made out of icicles and snow flakes. More than once, Lise would start, stare, and declare she'd seen a fairy, and she would tear off after it and return a few moments later, demanding to know if I had seen it too. At that I would shrug and play innocent, saying that I could have seen a fairy but that I could also have seen just an errant snowflake.

That evening we spent in pious contemplation: I read to her the story of the First Christmas from the Bible, and Lise, at the end of the story, presented me with a superb pencil drawing of the stable and its occupants, with the Star shining down over all. After that story, I began to read one of her novels to her, and she fell asleep in her chair, looking more like an angel than those I had put in the creche. I carried her upstairs and dressed her for bed, tucking her in and giving her a kiss on her forehead. At that moment, I was certain that God could not bless me more in this life than He had already.


End file.
